Thinking over the events of the past
nights, and the overwrought state of his friend’s
nerves, which had made him start in horror from his
sleep at the noise made by the rats which infested
the old house, Guest went on to muse over his position,
and the prospects of the admiral accepting him as
a husband for his niece, while Myra’s engagement
stood as it did.

“Time cures all things,”
he muttered. “Wonder how the poor boy feels
now. By George, he startled me and spoiled my
night.”

He had been having an early walk,
Stratton seeming calm enough that morning, and he
was now returning through the archway when there was
a low cough, and he heard his name uttered.

Turning sharply, it was to see Mrs
Brade at her doorway, beckoning to him.

Guest stepped into the little room,
half parlour, half kitchen, of the porter’s
lodge, and Mrs Brade carefully wiped a highly polished,
well beeswaxed chair with her apron and set it by
the fire.

“No, no, not there,” said
Guest hastily. “I’m hot enough already.”

“Of course, sir,” said
the woman, changing the position; “and you’ve
been walking, sir. One oughtn’t to have
a fire on a day like this; only you see, sir, one
must cook and do everything here when one only has
one room.”

“Of course, Mrs Brade; but it
is quite a little palace of cleanliness.”

“Which it’s very good
of you to say so, sir,” said Mrs Brade, with
an ill-used air, “and it would be if it wasn’t
for my husband. He’s one of the best of
men, sir, but that untidy in his habits. What
with one boot here, and another boot there, and tobacco
ashes all over the place, he nearly worries my life
out.”

A low, peculiar sound came from an
ajar door, sounding like a remonstrant growl from
the gentleman in question, whereupon Mrs Brade went
and shut the door, and drew an old moreen curtain across
the opening.

“He do breathe a little hard
in his sleep, sir,” she said apologetically.

“And likes plenty of it, eh?”

“Oh, dear no, sir. It’s
only eleven yet,” replied Mrs Brade, glancing
at a sallow-faced Dutch clock on the wall. “He
isn’t doo till twelve. You forget, sir,
as he’s up pretty well all night to let in gents
at all hours.”

“Loose fish?”

“Some of ’em, sir ­if
you means gents as don’t behave themselves and
comes home smelling of spirits horrid. But most
of ’em’s from Fleet Street, sir, from
the noosepapers, as keeps ’em till two and three
and four o’clock, and sometimes later.”

“Yes, sir, and our bread
and rolls; not that I wish you to think we’ve
anyone in the inn as is a baker.”

“I did not think so, Mrs Brade; but I’m
in a hurry.”

“And I won’t detain you,
sir. But, of course, you were going in to see
poor Mr Stratton, sir.”

“Yes; what of that,” said Guest sharply.

“I wanted to speak to you, sir,
about him very serious, sir. Only yesterday,
sir ­”

“Yes; go on, my good woman,
go on. Is there anything fresh?”

“Oh, yes, sir,” said the
woman, putting her apron to her eyes. “I
know all about his love troubles from the first.”

“Yes, yes.”

“And how he was disappointed about having Miss
Jerrold.”

“Well?”

“And then, sir, when at last
it was to come off, you see it was too much for him.”

“And he has turned a little ill. There,
he will soon be better.”

“I hope so, sir,” said Mrs Brade, shaking
her head, “but I’m afraid.”

“Look here, you have seen or
heard something to account, perhaps, for his sudden
illness.”

“Don’t call it illness, sir; the poor
dear gentleman is mad.”

“Mrs Brade!”

“It’s a fact, sir, I assure you, and we
may as well out with the truth.”

“Look here,” said Guest,
speaking hoarsely, for he felt startled at the woman’s
words, coinciding so exactly with horrible thoughts
hidden in his own breast. “This is a very
serious thing to say. What grounds have you
for such an assertion?”

“Well, sir, if you’ll sit down I’ll
tell you.”

Guest reseated himself, feeling that
if he wished to hear, he must let the woman go on
in her own way.

“I’ve always liked Mr
Stratton, sir, since he’s been here, and his
name always putting me in mind of Lady Burdett Coutts’
house at the corner of Strutton Street, where I have
visited one of the servants.”

Guest made an impatient gesture.

“Yes, sir, I am coming to it
as fast as I can. You see doing for him so long
and looking upon him like a son, and doing for Mr Brettison,
too, as is always most aggravating about his dusting,
and his room’s a disgrace, but I never thought
of Mr Stratton turning like that.”

“Like what?”

“I’m telling you, sir.
Getting so that it’s a favour to be allowed
to go into his room to tidy up, and him watching you
and following you about with his eyes, and glaring
at you all the time.”

“Of course, he does not like his specimens touched.”

“All which I know, sir, and
I’ve studied him; but he never went on as he
does now.”

“Oh, nonsense! he’s ill and doesn’t
want to be worried.”

“He’s mad, sir, as Bedlam.”

“Mrs Brade!”

“He is, sir, and last night he tried to strangle
me.”

“What?”

“He did, sir, as I’m a
sinful soul, and when I got away from him down the
stairs and back here into my room, it’s a mercy
as I didn’t faint away.”

“He touched you?”

“Touched me, sir? He seized me.
Oh, poor, dear gentleman, he’s gone.”

“Look here,” said Guest sharply, “have
you told anybody about it?”

“No, sir; not yet.”

“Then for Heaven’s sake
don’t, Mrs Brade,” said Guest, in a low,
hurried tone. “It was, perhaps, only a
sudden paroxysm. You say you like him.”

“Which indeed I do, sir.”

“Then pray be silent.
If such a report were spread it would be his ruin.”

“Yes, sir, I thought of all
that, and doctors signing things, and keepers coming
to take him to shut him up in cells, with chains, and
darkness, and howlings, and gnashing his teeth.
Oh, my poor dear! my poor dear! Such a bonnie,
good, lovable gentleman as you were!”

Mrs Brade threw up her apron to her
face and burst out into such a genuine passion of
sobs and tears that Guest was touched, and he rose
and placed his hand upon her arm.

“Hush, hush!” he whispered;
“don’t take on like that. Perhaps
it is only due to excitement, and he’ll soon
come round.”

“Do you think so, sir?”
cried the woman, dropping her apron.

“I do, indeed, if he is kept
quiet. Why, if it was known ­”

“And the keepers came, sir?”

“Come, come, it’s not
so bad as that. You have curious ideas about
the treatment of the insane.”

“Oh, no, sir; I’ve heard so much, sir.”

“Never mind: we will not
argue that. One thing is certain ­any
worry or excitement would be sure to make him worse.”

“Of course, sir.”

At that moment Mr Brade’s hard
breathing was audible through the door and curtain,
and Guest looked at it uneasily.

“Then you have not told your husband?”

“Indeed, no, sir.”

“Then do not. Nor anyone
else. We must keep this as our secret, Mrs Brade.
My poor friend will come right I hope and feel, in
time; so help me to guard him from all worry.”

“Indeed I will, sir.”

“No one must know. It would be bad for
him at the institution.”

“Yes, sir, and he’d have
to give up his chambers, of course, if any of the
neighbours ­I mean gentlemen in the other
rooms ­made complaints.”

“All of which we can avoid.
It only wants time. There, I’ll go up
and see him now, and Mr Brettison, too. Mind,
I rely upon your being discreet.”

“Of course, sir, and thank you
for coming in. You don’t know how much
good you’ve done me, sir.”

“I’m glad you spoke to
me,” said Guest; and he went across the inn to
Stratton’s chambers.

Search for books you want to read free by choosing a title. In this long list, you can find works in different literary forms, not just in English but in many other languages of the world, composed by a diverse and interesting array of authors. Many of these books are all time classics appealing to all ages. Authored by many renowned authors of their times, these books are a unique resource of knowledge and enrichment to be cherished forever.